The Great Wide Sea Continued
by what the heehaw
Summary: Nobody knows where the Bryon's went after the tragic loss of their mother. Now that he is home, Ben must readjust to his former life, and get used to life on land again. This story is told from the POV of an unmentioned childhood friend. Takes place during & after the events of "The Great Wide Sea". Can be read as a stand alone story if you have not read the book :)


**I actually believe that this is the first ever "The Great Wide Sea" fanfiction to be published online. I really love this book, and thought that maybe I could contribute to the characters' lives after the end of their recorded adventure. I think Ben is a very real, very human character, and I would love to explore more of his dynamics by writing about him. The narrator of this story is named Elaine, but her name will not be mentioned by any of the characters until a later time (I just thought you'd like to know :). Please enjoy and leave comments!**

Ben came back the first day of eleventh grade. At least, that was the first I had seen of him in over a year. I was running late. First period. The deserted north hallway. Well, deserted except for him. I jogged past him, then stopped, turned around and stared. The bell rang, my name was being marked absent in Mrs. Lambert's attendance book. It didn't make a difference to me at all. Ben kept walking, then turned into a classroom, completely unaware of my silent investigation. I shook myself out of my stupor, then ran all the way to chemistry. All day long my mind went to wherever he was.

Here's the thing you need to know about Ben and I. When we were both only four years old, my family moved to the same lake that the Bryon family lived on. I loved to swim, so did Ben, but more than that he loved to sail. He would go out for hours on end with his dad on that old sailboat of theirs and just float. I didn't understand it. Why would anybody want to just sit out in the middle of the lake all day? Swimming was much more fun. So was Sesame Street and playing on the shore. It wasn't until I was seven that I began to understand Ben's infatuation with the boat.

It was the fourth of July. Ben's dad took us out to the very center of the lake to watch the fireworks. I remember watching the light bounce off Ben's eyes as he looked up at the sky in wonderment. We were all very quiet, letting the sound of the explosions wash over us like the waves beneath the boards our feet rested on. When the light show had finally ceased, Ben's dad turned to us and said, "Well kiddos, I think that's it," He turned then and rowed us back to shore. During that time of quiet reflection, I realized that I loved Ben, though he did nothing to invite it.

The next couple of years passed by mostly without incident. Our parents still had barbecues together during the summer months. I still played with Ben out on the lake. Sometimes we would take Dylan and my younger brother Lucas with us to collect tiny shells or smooth rocks or whatever else caught our eyes. When we were done with that we would always go back to his house and stow our treasures under the back porch. Then we would go inside to watch an episode of Tom and Jerry or two with Ben's youngest brother, Gerry. We would laugh and say that it was really Tom and Gerry because Gerry was the smallest and didn't really get along too well with cats. Then, because our carrying on got so loud, Ben's mom would come in and see what all the noise was about, and end up laughing herself. I had always liked Ben's mom. She was kind and soft and everything a mother should be. She let me stay for dinner all the time, saying that she didn't mind having an extra kid running around and that she had always wanted a daughter anyway. Oftentimes it was her who would drive me home at night after a full day of playing with her sons. I loved her. She was the cool aunt every kid wants at some point.

A month after I turned ten the worst happened. After a long battle with cancer, my father passed away. I still remember clear as daylight where I was when it happened. I was trudging up a hill after my friend Autumn. I asked her for the time. She told me it was almost 11 o'clock. When I came home I learned that was about the time Dad had died. Normal death protocol followed. I spent most of my nights (and days) crying. There was a viewing. Then a funeral at our church. My mom carried me down the center isle to sit with the rest of the family members because I was too distraught to walk for myself. It was raining at the burial like it does in movies and overly dramatic books. My younger brother held the hand of one of the pallbearers as they laid my father to rot in the cold, wet earth. A small dinner was held back at my house, put on by my mom's sisters. I sat on the couch staring straight ahead. Ben sat next to me, silent as the grave that Dad now lay in. My Daddy, gone to me forever. I looked down and smoothed my hands over my black velvet dress, not wanting Ben to see my tears. "I'm sorry," He whispered, and then reached for my hand. Ben had never really touched me purposefully before. I blinked at his fingers that were wrapped around my own but didn't say anything. Around us people talked in hushed voices as the shadows on the walls grew more indistinct. Everything was gray. The walls, the sky, even the light seemed dull. I guess I fell asleep because the next thing I remember was Ben's mom peeling his hand away from mine as she spoke softly to my mother telling her if there was anything she needed to not hesitate to ask. My forehead was sweaty and there was drool running down my chin. I fell back asleep and awoke the next morning in my own bed, my black dress hung over a chair.

I don't really remember much from the weeks and months after that. My mother grew somewhat distant at times, but she always regained control of herself. She was never negligent to me and my brother. Ben and his family were still a part of my life, now more than ever. Ben's mom frequently baked casseroles to bring over so my mother would not have to worry about cooking every night. Lucas went out on the boat with Ben's dad, but hated it so much he cried every time he got near the thing. Finally he gave up and left him to play with Dylan, who was only a year older. After I had healed somewhat, it was Ben who became more distant. He now preferred to hang out with his friend Andrew over me. I was lonely, and hurt by this. My mother told me not to get too upset over it, explaining that he was at the age when it was no longer cool to be friends with girls. But I wasn't just any girl, I was his childhood friend, closer to him than any sister ever could be.

You know how you never think the bad things are going to happen to you. Well, the same thing goes for your friends. You think that you live in a protected bubble, and that no misfortune or evil could ever get to you or anyone you really know. Well it had. I had lost my father. And now my friend had lost his mother, except he had had no warning. She was not sick. She had not been lying in a bed for weeks staring Death in the face waiting for his cold hand to grip her. She had left, suddenly. No one could've predicted it, not that they would've wanted to anyway. Ben's father reacted very differently from the way my mother had handled the passing of her spouse. Ben's father up and decided to sell the house, the boat, everything. They were moving, but nobody seemed to know where they were going. I road my bike down to Ben's house the day they were having their yard sale. I was going to ask him if he wanted to go on a bike ride, get his mind off things. I was trying to be a good friend. I remember coming around the corner and seeing Ben standing on the front lawn, just looking, watching. There were boxes and boxes of things, most of which I recognized. I dropped my bike there, on the curb, and walked up to him. He stared past me for a moment, then his eyes focused, and he saw me, really looked at me for the first time in years. He had changed. There were dark circles under his eyes now. His face looked more gaunt and haunted. He stooped, bent down by the weight of his mother's absence. I took his hands in mine. "I'm so sorry," I whispered. There were people around us, hunting and pecking for a bargain out of those cardboard boxes. Looking for a new vase or TV remote or whatever. Not caring about the memories that were attached to every single item they touched. I didn't care if they saw a boy and girl holding hands on that lawn, I only cared about Ben. He carefully removed his hands from mine. "Thank you," He murmured, and turned away. He looked at the bike that was propped against the big tree some fifteen feet in front of us. The polished metal reflected the sun and stung my eyes. I looked away, back at Ben. "I wanted to know if maybe you wanted to go for a ride, you know, like how we did when we were little." He looked at me again. "No, I don't think so." He answered. With that he turned and walked into the house, the screen door slamming in his wake.

I was left to stand there, the sun beating down on me. I was hurt. I hurt more for Ben and his loss than I ever had for my own. When I got home, I just sat and looked out on the lake. Someone was speeding past on their motorboat, having a good time. I squinted up at the sky, wondering if Ben's mom and my dad could see us all the way down here. I hoped so. Later that evening, I went back and took the bike that was propped up against the tree. It still had Gerry's baby seat attached to it. I had no idea what to do with it, but I knew nobody else could have it, they just couldn't.

Much later I realized that that was the last time I saw Ben. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. Even Andrew didn't know where they'd gone for sure. He told me that Mr. Bryon just wasn't the same after his wife had passed, not that I hadn't already picked up on that. He had only seen him once, but he could tell there had been a change, and not for the better, either. Nobody at school really took a notice of Ben's prolonged absence. Only Andrew and I seemed to care. After all, Ben had kept pretty much to himself. He never talked out in class, never raised his hand, never told any jokes. He slipped by, under the radar. I missed him that year, knowing all along he never once would think of me at all.

A year away had been good for Ben, I decided. He was handsome before, but now he looked older, more mature. His face was weathered, and tired looking, like he had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for a time. I sat across from him the next day at lunch. Over the course of the previous school year Andrew and I had become friends, probably because we had a common interest of wondering where the heck the Bryon's went. He sat next to me, chatting amiably away with his friend like no real time had lapsed since they had last seen each other. Apparently Andrew was not as interested as I was as to why Ben went missing for a year, he never brought it up. Maybe Ben had told him at some earlier time that day or the day before, but as for myself, I was still completely clueless. Instead of paying attention to my friends' conversation, I decided to use the time to study Ben's features. His wavy hair was a lighter blonde than I had ever seen it. He must have been in the sun recently, and for a long time. Large blotchy freckles were spattered over the bridge of his nose. He had very long, thick eyelashes (of which I had always been very jealous) that half hid the hazel of his eyes. He used his hands as he talked. When he moved his arms I could see the finely toned muscles working underneath his tanned skin. His hands were rough and calloused. The bell rang. I blushed, thinking of how much time I had spent looking at the boy who I had worried about for so long. I was certainly glad he was back, to say the least.


End file.
